Tick

Philosophy won't ever help
a butcher make a cleaner cut
and War's a fearsome teacher but
it heels the haughty whelp

despite the lethal force
with which a shell can detonate
the tortured timebombs we create
should cause the most remorse.

Decoded

There's so much more to art
than programs may detect
for no computer has a heart
with which one can connect

efficient code might gauge
adherence to a rule
(an algorithm isn't sage
it's just a mindless tool)

and if you dare create
for beauty's sake alone
the critics could become irate
as those who judge are prone

but in the end it falls
on seekers of the truth
to choose if genius truly calls
or simply vulgar youth.

Blowhard

Tornadoes have appendages
that's where the rubble flies
away from the apologies
they wink with tranquil eyes
but if I'm being blunt
it's all a tragic front.

Lifer II

Another day of hell
pretending that I care
how much I'd miss this cell

if suddenly it fell
because it couldn't bear
another day of hell.

I found a piece of shell
to scratch the walls and share
how much I loathe this cell

my etchings barely tell
how poorly one will fare;
another day of hell

of things not going well
just makes me more aware
how much I spurn this cell,

but then I can't dispel
this desperate urge for air—
another day of hell?
Oh, how I'll miss this cell.

Remembrance

The sky was speckled black
like pepper had been spilled
the cordite from the flak
was so damn thick it filled
their mouths, and every breath
was redolent with coming death,

they suffered in the air
on the beaches and the sea
our soldiers learned to bear
their pain for liberty
and we salute the distant plane
where they have gone, though not in vain.

Inflorescence

The lilacs are in bloom
and I feel myself regressing
to that little paneled room
where I spent so much time guessing
uncertain what would loom
and clueless what a blessing
those days devoid of gloom
would seem when life's distressing

I miss those sunny days
and the raw, untainted wonder
reflected in the rays
and pealing like the thunder
arriving with the Mays
when I was growing, under
the spell of scented ways
that made me less a blunder.

Processed

We were like McNuggets in a line
carnivores in cars that came to dine
I watched a cigarette inhaling man
collecting garbage from a bulging can
the grayish smoke in which his face was lost
reminded me of smoldering exhaust
which choked me as I waited there to pay
for poison that the clowns say is okay.

Soar Spot

I watched a robin take wing
while on my work-bound route
and wondered if I had a thing
of value to commute
for just one shot to sing
but I was destitute
so wished it well as it began
a lilting tune unknown to man

and prompted by those gentle notes
I sought a different path
to skirt the management that gloats
about lopsided math
regurgitated down the throats
that warble hungry wrath
and maybe find a place where I
can have a chance to reach the sky.

Raised

There's been nothing heretofore observed
that helps explain why faith has swerved
and no compelling facts as yet
to null a skeptic's chance to fret
but all my nagging doubts are brief
confronted by my core belief
that God indeed exists above
to nurture those in search of love.

Flocked

They affably bleat
immune to the scorn
that's heaped at their feet
the sheepish are shorn

they're constantly fleeced
from when they are born
until they're deceased
the sheepish are shorn

rebellion has dimmed
they gather each morn
content to be trimmed
the sheepish are shorn.

Truant

The sun is out,
it's golden tone
is so devout
it warms the stone
and spurs the sprout—

the sun went out
it's dying moan
was like a shout
that made one doubt
it ever shone.

Dispersal

Burn my body on a pyre
return my soul to smoke
unfettered by the fire
from this fragile mortal yoke

the wispy bluish curls will drift
wherever winds may blow
beyond the rapids and the rift
and weary worlds of woe.

Shades of Humility

A milky moon meanders through
the murky sky of night
as pensive as a pupil who
suspects the sense of sight

and once again it seeks to coax
with strident sterling streams
of lust, the spirit which provokes
a dialogue of dreams

the cool and stony way it peers
into my very soul
is amplifying atmospheres
conducive to control

but rebel forces counteract
conceited queens-to-be
that try their darnedest to extract
the prose of perigee

and all the would-bes of her court
watch grandeur coyly blink
as umbrage rules her lone retort--
a long, determined wink.

Dynasty

For some a poem's a lifetime
for others it's merely a thought
and then there are those whose bad rhyme
is better left unwrought

a strophe can be but a season
a couplet can birth something fine
the search for a logical reason
may end with the newly found line.

Phraseology

In a discriminating age
is there age discrimination
or an all-consuming rage
is there raging consummation
once they demonstrate their wage
can you wage a demonstration
if you dominate the stage
will it stage a domination?

Visionless

There's a fold in my eye
where oversights fly
I'd rather let lie

it's a wrinkle some say
or flesh gone astray
I blink either way

and sometimes I cry
because of that sty
where dormant dreams die.

Partake

The crescent of the moon is like a cup
unable to contain the flood of stars
which spill across the sky as I look up
and seem as close as Jupiter or Mars,

a vessel doesn't always bear as much
as thought by those intent on having more
who curb their own capacity (as such)
though drafts of Heaven's splendor can restore.

Festooned

An archetypal day for spring
and it seems as well to fly
as several sterlings all take wing
to streak across the azure sky
their ghostly streamers snaking west
to hail the place the sun will rest.

Dozing

Why must momentum be totally stilled
before the light becomes green
shouldn't we let our kinetic force build
to raze the rusty routine?

Spur

The dark canal was moist and still
until a keening screech of steel
delivered me unto the night,
the nubile nurturer of naught
that knew those reinforcing ties
would be like anchors on my toes
and every time it drove a spike
a whispering within me spoke:
Release your guilt and you will find
no greater freedom can be found
the shame of indiscretion weighs
a thousandfold adorned with woes.
And with a click a willow switch
that whistled in an arcing swath
reminded me of youthful lust
(an armistice we pray will last)
but like a fading welt it's lost
in memories of healing, while
a hauntingly receding wail
continues to support the role
of conscience doomed to ever rail.

Vection

The pleasantries are said
as though they're merely an allusion
he's lost within his head
where he can prey on the profusion
of fauna that are fed
by the colorful collusion
of idiom that's more than green
with florid gobs of glib between.

He watches others go
and it seems that he's in motion
the movement tells him so
but it's just a faulty notion
as age begins to show
while supposed locomotion
takes place within his frontal lobe
where he's content to ever probe.

Back Talk

Tulips puckered?
Well they're just tuckered
from vibrantly heralding spring
so don't get snippy
they won't get lippy
again until next years fling.

SWAK

Remember the days of handwriting
when sentiments came from the heart
the scribbles were just so inviting
in a manner that print can't impart

the fact that a person would fashion
a message completely by hand
is a testament showing pure passion
that only true love can command

inhaling the ink imbued essence
which poured from each perfumy pore
would lend us a hint of the presence
that flowed from the one we adore

and then on the envelope edges
were sayings and coy little quips
but nothing compared to the pledges
that came from the sweetest red lips.

Grapple

Don't hem and haw
or mutter awwwww
when you're upset
just set your jaw

then scratch and claw
if questions gnaw
but never let
your dream withdraw.

Verdancy

If you mow
the minute you sow
you'll be dirt poor
before you know

but take it slow
and let it grow
no greener shore
will ever show.

Automaton

I live my life by rote
the bile in my throat
is blankly choked down every day
to leave a proper coat

embittered yet blase
repressed by an array
of hues that once were vibrant but
disintegrate to gray

and now I wonder what
this growling in my gut
is telling me to hunger for--
which carcass should I cut

to get some game before
they shut the kitchen door;
who knew such dilemmas reigned
the pacifistic poor?

Pinnacle?

Todays world is bliss
(if you practice avarice)
it's a paradise untold
(if you'll grovel for some gold)
there's a coolness you can feel
(if you like touching steel)
what an age beyond compare
(for those without a care).

Adamant

A stone may be warmed
caressed by the sun
but it's only a fleeting affair
the fondness they've formed
when daytime is done
will fade like the lack of despair
their imminence helped them to share

and then in the night
left cold by the moon
(reflecting it's distant ennui)
there's little delight
which means very soon
desire will dim a degree
the stone becomes hard as can be.

Meritorious

The last in line
may miss the mine
but has to see the bodies strewn
the remnants of each ruptured rune
that wetly shine.

The last in line
doesn't need a sign
they'll see the characters that led
dismembered by whomever read
the columns we confine.

The last in line
may find it hard to dine
remembering the sacrifice
of those that paid the graphic price
to serve design.


***Dedicated to all my fellow A-Zers that successfully accomplished the mission and a Prose-idential Medal of Creative Honor to an old friend from last year - Donna at Mainly Write and a new friend from this year - Nick at Scattergun Scribblings both of which are in my links, check them out, they are truly original, see you next year ;-)***

Theocracy

The sun behind the monolith
imparts a holy glow
a glaringly deceptive myth
as we have come to know

this obelisk of gold is just
a poorly plated stone
that's destined to erode to dust
like those it tries to own

there are no pristine virgins here
where nothing can abstain
from oaths the overburdened jeer
producing the profane

for when the profit's seeing red
the future looks quite grim
while those still faithful force the dead
to hum their horrid hymn.

Airy

A huge apostrophe in the sky
caught the fancy of my eye
as I went speeding by

it wasn't for a quote
of which to take note
but rather the mark
of an ironic lark

as transient as the clouds
that congregate in vapid crowds
like insubstantial shrouds.